


Flight

by varjohaltija



Series: Clint and Fantastic Beasties [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Awesome Clint Barton, Awesome Phil Coulson, Clint NO!, Dragons, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sappy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija/pseuds/varjohaltija
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Messing with magic is a bad, bad, bad idea. Clint should know better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to the ["My Lady of Fire"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2353166) and it is recommendable to read that one first. In between these two stories Clint has established some sort of partnership of intergalactic vigilantism with the bálormr. I had a story about that, but I wanted to finish this first, because I was drowning in canon induced angst and needed to self-indulge with some fluffy OTP-feels ASAP. This has fucking nil to do with current canon. Yesh. :)
> 
> Thank you for my lovely beta readers [sc010f](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sc010f) and [cristinuke](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke), who make everything better. Always.

Phil wakes up abruptly in the middle of night, because there is an emergency and someone is screaming at him. He’s barely conscious, but he already has jumped up and has his gun in his hand.

The bedroom is silent and peaceful, his harsh panting sounds loud in the dark.

Nothing.

It was just a dream, yes? Yet the terror is still clutching him, his heart is bounding too hard, too fast, blood is thrumming in his ears, his whole body is vibrating and ready to fight. He reaches automatically to his side. Clint’s place is cold and empty. Momentary worry subsides as his still sleep-groggy mind reminds him that Clint was supposed to be away, somewhere hunting with the bálormr – a creature Phil likes to think as Clint’s stray dragon from the other realm. He’s been away for few days now.

Phil gets up, checks his phone, walks through the apartment, making certain that doors and windows are secured. While the routine calms him, he still can feel the adrenaline. He’s had night terrors before and he knows it sometimes takes a long time for body to come down and for him to be able to sleep again. He doesn’t have Clint here now to soothe him, to make him feel safe. Nothing helps him relax like his husband’s warm, firm body spooning flush against his back, feeling the steady heartbeat, strong arms around him… But that’s not available now and those relaxation techniques they taught in the yoga class Pepper dragged him into, they are just useless… so instead of laying alone in bed, unable to fall asleep, Phil decides to make some tea and read.

So when someone starts banging the door, Phil, snuggled under the quilt on the couch, nearly knocks the cup of Earl Grey into his lap. Some of it spills on the Howling Commandos memoirs he was reading , making him curse whomever it is trying, by the sound of it, to hammer their way inside. He goes to the door warily, gun ready in his hand, wondering who it could be. There is a bad feeling in his mind: only few types of people so totally ignore the doorbell.

There is young looking Asgardian soldier on the door. This is definitely not good, Phil thinks.

“Son of Coul?” The soldier salutes and stands to attention so solemnly that if Phil wasn’t so worried he might find that comical “I have been ordered to retrieve you.”

“Ordered by whom? Why?”

The young man looks stern, he is staring somewhere past Phil, “Heimdahl says that Lady Tara of Muspelheim needs your presence. Immediately.” He glances at Phil’s face and adds apologetically, ”I know nothing more.”

Phil’s stomach sinks. Tara is the name Clint gave to the bálormr. Suddenly he recalls the dream that woke him - it was Tara’s booming voice in his head demanding him to come and help because Clint was in trouble. Something has happened that powerful mythical, magical beast cannot fix herself. Icy panic grips Phil.

He dresses and hastily gathers some field gear and follows the young warrior, pushing down the cold fear as best as he can.

 

\----

 

Phil has no idea what kind of leverage a bálormr has on Asgard to be handed a seemingly limitless access to Bifrost. Maybe Asgardians are trying to pay amends for letting Loki escape and indirectly causing the death of her mate. Clint joked once that Phil should ask for some free subscription as well; it was kind of their fault he got impaled. It would undoubtedly come handy, being able to move to any location on Earth in mere minutes. They could take down Hydra bases, save lives… but he knows that if Asgardians wanted to share this technology, they would offer it themselves. So he doesn’t ask.

Clint hadn’t been sure where they were going this time, and Phil had assumed some alien realm. Landing in the middle of Grand Canyon is therefore somewhat surprising.

Phil glances around and freezes.

Clint is lying on the ground, looking for all the world like he is sleeping. Like in a bad dream it seems to take forever for Phil to get to him. Phil goes on his knees by Clint’s side, trying to wake him up, shaking him first gently, then harder, calling him, yelling, but Clint doesn’t react. He’s cool to the touch, doesn't seem to be breathing and his pulse is so slow and weak that Phil can hardly feel it. Tears threaten behind his eyelids and he is nearly hyperventilating now. He struggles to calm down, to breathe, to get the fucking grip, because whatever has happened it doesn’t help Clint if Phil falls to pieces now. There is movement on his peripheral vision and he lifts his gaze to see the bálormr on the distance.

Words burst out of him as he staggers up and faces the creature.

“What the FUCK have you done? What has happened to him?” Anger and panic make his voice shake. Somewhere in the back of his head he's aware that he is screaming at the creature that he has no way of beating if she decides to take an offence and smite him. But he had trusted the beast. He had trusted her to keep Clint safe. And now; now he would go and grab her and shake her if he wouldn’t be scorched to ashes. In his impotent rage he just clenches his fists and shouts, until words stop coming and he is panting harshly, glaring at the bálormr. He knows it can read his mind, it can feel his fear and grief.

It is not easy for such a big creature to squirm, but squirm she does. She waits for him to calm down, before starting to speak,

“He… he wanted to fly.”

“Did he fall? Is that why he is in injured?” There had been no external injuries that Phil saw.

Bálormr shakes her huge head, “His body is undamaged. He is riding the mind of the hawk now.”

“What?”

“I taught him to move his mind into the bird so that he could experience how it feels to fly. He is in it’s head now. But he does not want to come back to his body. He is not able to.”

That takes some digesting. “He is in the head of some wild animal?” Phil practically squeaks the last few words. He notices a lone hawk circling above them and points at it, mouth agape, not getting any coherent words out.

Bálormr is infuriatingly calm,“Yes, that hawk.”

Phil peers at the bird above them. He cannot really see the details, but he can hear it calling. He is pretty certain it is red tailed hawk, Clint’s favorite. He raises his eyebrow in silent question, still not knowing what to say.

“It is called borrowing. You kind of meld into some other mind.”

Phil closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in effort to be as patient as possible, “And you thought this was a good idea, how exactly?”

The bálormr shifts in obvious unease. She huffs out a guilty burst of smoke.“I admit that this was an error of judgement from my part. I never imagined he would have such raw talent for borrowing and strong affinity for birds.”

All the calm Phil has been able to muster dissipates in a heartbeat.

“You didn’t know he might have affinity for it? _You_ call him hawk. He even likes _pigeons_. He goes as high as he can whenever he can - would live in a damn tree if he could. He has hideaways in ventilation ducts. He builds pillow mounds all over apartment – for fuck’s sake, our bed is a one big nest!”

At that bálormr coughs out in surprise.

Phil scowls at her.

“Oh, like you didn’t know that. You’ve been inside his head, read his mind.”

It’s bálormrs turn to growl angrily.

“It does not work like that, Son of Coul. I see minds, as you see people. They can be clothed, or allow you to see them naked. And just as for you to see someone without clothes or examine their innards, I would have to use violence or deceit to see all of persons mind if they do not want me to. And that is not how things are done. That is... vulgar.” She snorts out a cloud of black smoke, seemingly offended that someone could ever suspect her of such mental voyeurism.

“But as I said, I made a mistake. I did not expect him to be able to slip into the head of the other being in first try, even with my help. It takes usually years of magical training and several attempts to succeed. Neither did I anticipate that he would be so into it… that he would turn into the hawk so quickly.”

“Turn _into_ the hawk?”

“Usually people can borrow the mind of the other being without a problem. They ride, they return. There is psychic link between body and the mind and they just follow it back. Principle is simple enough. However, after prolonged time in the animal’s mind, one starts to turn into that animal. They start to forget who they really are. It gets harder to return. The psychic link grows thinner and eventually it breaks. Body dies and just the animal remains. Usually this takes years of repeated exposure.”

Phil can hear from her voice that yet again Clint is exceptional.

“But…? ”

She sounds regretful.

“Clint, he was good in slipping in, but he lacks the training to keep his mind separate from the hawk’s. He does not know the way out. He was far too gone before I realized it. I cannot pull him back, he does not answer my calls. I can feel the link between his body and mind deteriorating much more quickly than it should. I cannot reach him. But maybe you can. He is _your_ hawk after all.”

“But he has been turned into an animal before,” Phil objects. It practically comes with a job description of SHIELD agents to be turned into some creature or another at some point. “He has been in other form for weeks at best with no ill effects.” When Clint was a squirrel he still preferred Gatorade and pizza, watched cartoons and used projectile weapons – even more effectively than normal. Phil hadn’t known you could actually knock someone unconscious with a perfectly aimed acorn. Even Natasha had been impressed. And Clint definitely had the feelings of the human. Phil remembers how it had been on the other hand adorable and on the other hand absolutely mortifying to be an object of tiny rodent’s amorous attention.

He recalls his own week as python. The frustration of not being understood, being so goddamn slow before the knuckleheads in SHIELD figured that normal room temperature just isn’t enough for cold-blooded agents, being denied his coffee, because snake physiology would object it. And oh, the indignity of gathering dust from the floors and fighting the urge to eat dead rats that Jasper – the fucker – kept on offering him. He also remembered the contentment and joy, when Clint nonetheless took him to bed and fell happily asleep Phil curled around his legs and arm, his head tucked into the warm comfort of the crook of Clint’s neck. Being so considerate was the reason Phil forgave him all the anaconda jokes afterwards.

“That is a lesson of having an animal body. And even then the body starts to affect your mind. This is about inhabiting a body with animal mind already attached. They are pretty good at being animals and strong willed at that.”

That actually makes sense. As much as any of this can make sense. Phil sighs.

“Fine. But what do I do? You saw that he didn’t wake up when I tried to stir him just now. Or when I screamed at you.”

“You will have to go and fetch him. You will go to the hawk’s mind. And for that, you will have to let me inside yours, let me guide you.”

Phil hesitates, but only for a moment.

“Good good, just go for it. Lets get this done.” Phil sheds his coat and rolls his shoulders. He isn’t overly excited of the idea of someone poking into his brain, but if that is what is needed to get Clint back safely, he will do it. He will do anything.

“Son of Coul, it is not that simple. It is similar thing to trust or respect. Or better yet, affection. You cannot force it no more than you can stop it. This is not the matter of will. If it is to happen it will happen. Clint, I can reach even in the other realm when he is asleep. You, I cannot see past your most superficial thoughts and emotions. I used all my might to try and reach you in your dream but I do not think you heard me.”

So that _was_ what had awakened him.

“Please, is there something I can do to help you?”Phil doesn’t care if he sounds like he’s begging. She can probably see it anyway.

“Relax. Try not to think on the here and now, try to focus on those things that make you happy yet vulnerable. Something that makes you open your very soul.”

Phil sits next to Clint’s unmoving body, settles next to him, taking Clint’s hand. It’s cold, too cold. Phil closes his eyes and tries to calm down.

Relax. Happy thoughts. But all the joy turns into crippling fear. His happiest memories are of Clint. But Clint is still beside him, his hand cold in Phil’s.

Phil pushes the dark thoughts aside and takes a deep breath. Holds it in. Exhales. Pause and another deep breath. Hold it. Exhale. He tries to concentrate on the feeling of air flowing in and out of his lungs. And to his surprise it helps. Those yoga lessons might have actually taught him something besides flexibility. He keeps on breathing, tenses and relaxes muscles in his legs, in his arms, but he doesn’t let go of Clint’s hand.

> _A fishing-trip with Clint. Totally disastrous catch-wise, but they had laughed so much his stomach hurt. Fuck he loved Clint’s laughter. Clint had tried to teach him fly fishing, but he had just made a big mess out of the line, slipped, and ended up tumbling onto his ass in the water. Clint had helped him up, they both had been soaking wet, laughing like maniacs, and rod had disappeared somewhere, so they had decided to forget fishing, ditch the clothes and take a swim._
> 
> _Clint rising from the water in sunset, like some river god, water rippling down his body, so beautiful it made Phil’s chest feel tight. Clint had looked at him with such fondness – he couldn’t believe anyone ever would look at him like that, didn’t know what he had done to deserve this._
> 
> _Clint sitting with him by the fire, arms around him, resting his head on Phil’s shoulder, humming some country song sleepily. He had been leaning closer to Clint, entwining their fingers, he was warm and comfortable, he felt so safe, so loved, so happy._

Suddenly there is somebody else in his head. A presence.

Phil’s knee jerk reaction can’t be helped. He pushes out with his mind and the presence is gone at once. It feels like slamming a door in someone’s face.

“Sorry.” Phil wants to slap himself for panicking.

“It is all right.. It was easier than I thought, to be honest. You are a quick learner. We will try again.” The bálormr sounds impressed.

They end up failing few times still. Phil tries not to get frustrated, tries not to push it. Finally he manages not to shut his mind when another consciousness enters.

 _”Good. You are doing wonderfully.”_ Phil can feel the edge of other mind, curious, gentle, a mental tickling. She doesn’t seem malevolent, althought he can sense the fear, worry… he can tell she is worried for Clint, that she truly cares, views him as a comrade, a fellow warrior and hunter.

That probably is the key. Phil can feel how the connection strengthens.

 _“Are you ready?”_ she asks in the silence of his mind. He is. And in an instant they are hovering in the air.

He can still feel Clint’s hand in his. He can feel the ground under his back. But he is also soaring, rising with the thermal wind, following the cliff side. Wind is ruffling his feathers, lifting him high, air is fresh and world beneath so far away. No responsibilities, no life and death of other people in his hands, just the hunt, the tide of the air currents. He lets out a shriek that echoes in the canyon. He can see so far away, head turning swiftly to the direction of the movement amongst the rocks... His mind jerks.

_“No no, not you too. Focus, Son of Coul!”_

_“Call him back.”_

“Barton, talk to me.” Phil’s voice echoes in his own mind.

Nothing.

“Barton!” Phil summons all the authority of Agent Coulson into the plea.

Silence, and maybe, maybe a vague feeling of a panicked, wild animal fleeing.

_“When I said he is your hawk I did not mean you as a falconer… but as his mate. Hawks mate for life and if their mate dies they may never take a new one. The hawk you saw… you heard its cry. It has been calling all day… for it’s partner. Tethers of love, not responsibility, are the ones you should be using.“_

Phil tries again,“Clint, come back!”

Suddenly realization hits Phil: he really could lose Clint to this. To the call of the wild, to the freedom. It’s tempting him, too. But this isn’t Clint. Clint is no bird, he is human. Real Clint is dying, getting lost, fading away.

“Clint, please.” He can feel hot tears prickling in his eyes, flooding over, running down his cheeks.

“Clint.” Not a shout, almost inaudible whisper, a ragged sob. Fear thrums through him, memories wash over him…

He can hear a hoarse scream of the hawk. Suddenly there is presence, still wild, still alien, but recognizable. _PhilPhilPhilPhilPhilPhilPhilPhilPhilPhilPhilPhilPhilPhil_ A shrill call above him. Frantic. Fluttering. Possessive. Circling around, descending on him.

“Clint.” He reaches out carefully, so carefully. Desperate need to touch, to take into arms, to hold onto and never let go.

 _Minemineminemineminemineminemineminemineminemineminemine_ Rapture, joy, engulfing happiness.

“Yours. I’m yours. I came for you. I always come for you.”

Phil has a sudden urge to ruffle his feathers, stretch his neck to be groomed…

_“Phil?”_

This is Clint. _His_ Clint. For a brief moment Phil senses something he will cherish for the rest of his life. There is Clint, open and raw in front of him, too beautiful and perfect, congregation of feelings. Beyond that, beyond the surface, filling him, is the pure joy of having Phil, a searing wave of love. Phil is floored by the strength of it and he wonders what Clint can see. They are soaring still, together, and Phil has never been happier.

He feels the presence of the bálormr, she is humming with relief.

Suddenly Phil is back in his body. Phil can feel the rock digging into his shoulders, sand in his hair. He is holding Clint’s hand, squeezing tight – and he can feel Clint squeezing back. _His_ Clint.

The grin on Clint’s face tugs at Phil’s heart.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Welcome back.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm shamelessly stealing the term and basic principle of "borrowing" from the Discworld witches and added some Deverry-universe shapeshifting lore as well.


End file.
